Go Figure
by HeartsOfTheBeasts
Summary: I died in an accident but was reborn as a delusional, and suddenly mute child that was supposed to die in the same accident. I have to get Marshall to figure out who I am while I'm scrambling for reality. Go figure, right?
1. Death and Rebirth

_A/N: Out of Control will be finished eventually. I've backed myself into a corner in that story, and this is something I've had stuck in my head while trying to figure out how to fix it. Last night's episode of Fringe gave me an idea or two to help me write this. I hope you enjoy this. Title is based of a song with the same name by Everlife. Fantastic song, and I think it will go very well with this story._

I was desperately needing coffee. I was near psychotic without my coffee, and Mom used the last of the coffee last night before I got home. Marshall was out of town and wouldn't be back until around lunch, so there was no chance that there was coffee on his desk, and there was no way in hell I would trust Eleanor's coffee. Bitch probably poisoned it and only put the antidote in hers, Stan's, and Marshall's coffee. After hours of driving, obviously I'm exaggerating but it sure did seem like it, I finally pulled into the Starbuck's parking lot. This place was expensive as hell and I only went here on the rare occasion in which Marshall was not in town, and I had no coffee at home. The only nice thing about this Starbuck's was that it was literally across the street from the work building. As I ordered my coffee, Marshall's voice rang in my ear telling me to tip them, but I growled in annoyance only handed the woman behind the counter the exact amount and waited for my coffee.

"Hi Mary!" an annoyingly cheery voice called from one of the tables.

I turned to look and I saw Damion, Wendy, and Charlotte, a family that joined the witness protection program a few years ago. Charlotte was Damion and Wendy's six year old child and was the main reason her family was in Witsec. Wendy worked at convenience store that was robbed. She had been at the back of the store when she spotted the man pull out the gun and ran to the restroom, which was the closest room. Charlotte had come out of the office during the middle of it, saw the dead on the floor and fled to the same restroom, both of them escaping out of a window, while the men tried to beat the locked door down. If Wendy wasn't there, they wouldn't have even been allowed to join Witsec, because Charlotte was delusional. The men would have gotten away because they could have easily discarded Charlotte's statement.

"Hi Mary! Hi Suzanne!" Charlotte grinned.

According to Charlotte, Suzanne was a woman that traveled everywhere with me. Even to the restroom. Seriously disturbing, but I knew she was still fragile after the robbery and I managed not tearing her throat out the past few years because of that. I managed a small smile, and they left, chatting about something. I snatched my coffee which was just put on the counter, and rushed outside. I stepped off the sidewalk, seeing, out of the corner of my eye, my witnesses reversing out of their parking space. I wondered briefly how a family could be so happy even when their daughter deals with so many delusions on a daily basis. I was so caught up in my own thoughts, I didn't even see the speeding truck coming from behind my witnesses. As they reversed the truck caught the back end, sending them spinning into another car, and the truck continued on towards me. I was frozen in shock and fear; I didn't even feel the impact.

I closed my eyes.

The blinding light penetrated my closed eyelids. I was falling, so fast, yet so slow. I wondered when I'd hit the ground. My heart pounded. I opened my eyes even though the light would suggest it was brighter without my eyelids blocking some of the light. Surprisingly it was damn near dark. Who ever thought up of blinding darkness? When I opened my eyes, I stopped falling. I seemed to be floating. What the hell?

"Welcome Mary." A voice above me called softly.

I looked up to see... Barbie? The Barbie girl gracefully floated down toward my level and flashed as smile. It was then I could see only slight differences between this girl and a Barbie. For one, she wasn't plastic, and a few facial features are different.

"My name is Seana, and welcome to the world between worlds."

I opened my mouth to speak to find no words exiting. Seana chuckled. "So many times, dear Mary, that that voice of yours has caused more trouble than not. It is your time to listen, not speak." She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts. "It is rare that people get a second chance. For one, another person must die at the exact same second, and that doesn't happen often. Second, if a guy or a girl who died had a soul mate, who would die without dead person, we will return the person, but in a different form."

I looked quizzically at Seana. I didn't know whether or not I was dead, but she was making no sense? Returning a person in a different form? What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

She seemed to read my mind as she snickered, "In other words you'll be reborn as someone else. You won't be Mary Shannon any longer. Another person died just as you died, and you will take their place. The only reason you will live again is because your soul mate needs you. Your job is to keep him alive."

I was desperate to ask who had died, but a blinding light interrupted my thought, and I opened my eyes to see I was in a hospital room. I sighed in relief. Perhaps it was just a coma dream. I've heard stories of people who had dreams while they were in comas. I looked down, and swallowed hard as I noticed that my hands were smaller than normal and one was wrapped in a cast almost to my elbows. Much smaller. My body wasn't as long either, and my blond hair was longer. Shakily I ripped out the IVs and pulled the sheets back. I maneuvered out of the bed, and with support from the bed and the wall, I moved towards the bathroom. Once I managed to turn on the light, I looked up at the mirror.

I screamed.

I was Charlotte.

And suddenly, I was not alone.


	2. Being Reborn is a PITA

_A/N: Thank you BuJyo and Kay8abc for your reviews! I forgot to mention that when I did the first chapter last week that I finally got one of the smart phones that have internet! So nice, let me tell you. It won't let me upload chapters or edit text of my documents but I can put all of the contents in an email and email my friend so now I can update whenever I have a chapter ready. Hopefully I'll be updating more often._

Let me tell you. Living through your own death is the most disturbing experience ever. Buried alive might be a close second, but being dead and coming back to a new body is a real bitch.

Figures, people surrounded me instantaneously. I couldn't focus on them, and the sudden barrage of questions. Nurses checked the room, while another one tried to guide me back to the bed. I refused to move though. I'd keep blinking, pinching myself, trying to make my brain see my own body again, not Charlotte's. For a moment, I looked farther than my new body and noticed a woman leaning against the wall, smirking. Short brown hair framed her face, and she was, if I had to make a guess, about the same height as my old self.

In my shock of seeing her, the nurse that was trying to get me to move managed to drag me out of the restroom and put me back on the bed. I folded my arms tightly, to make it more difficult for the nurse to put the IVs back in.

"Charlotte," the nurse sighed. "It would be easier for both of us if you let me put the IV back in."

"I'm not Charlotte!" I growled.

"Honey, if you want to say something, just do it, instead of just mouthing the words."

My eyes widened. I was sure I said that out loud. I took a breath and slowly, concentration on actually talking, I said, "I am not Charlotte." I swore when I realized no sound had exited my lips. That Seana Barbie bitch didn't just take my voice when I visited her, she took it from my life as well.

The woman I saw in the restroom came into the room and stood on the other side of the bed from the nurse, bent down and whispered softly into my ear, "You, my dear, are Charlotte, perhaps not before, but you must certainly are now."

The nurse ran off, and I assumed she went to get a doctor. I turned back to the woman, "Who are you?" I asked.

"Suzanne, I am."

I closed my eyes and and tried to stop the panic that was quickly rising. It figures that I get Charlotte's delusions as well. I opened my eyes in time to see Marshall running past my door.

"Oh my god," I whispered. He knows about my death.

Thing is, when I awoke in Charlotte's body, I was on an adrenaline rush. I needed to see who's body I was in and I needed to know fast. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, when I slipped off the bed, I fell onto the floor. The thing is, when you suddenly have shorter limbs, it's like relearning to walk. You can't walk as fast, and there is a much shorter distance to being either face first in the ground or falling flat on your ass. Trust me, walking with smaller limbs and a body that isn't yours is much more difficult than you would think.

I heard chuckles coming from Suzanne as I stumbled across the room. I didn't have much more luck out in the hallway, but there were no doctors or nurses out here to drag me back to my room. At the far end of the hallway, I noticed Marshall's form, arms on either side of the door, the door I suspected was the morgue. Even from here, I could tell he wasn't sure if he should go in. I managed to get to him, and said his name softly. Of course, he didn't hear me, or even notice my presence, so I tugged on his shirt sleeve. If I didn't know how distraught he was, I would have laughed at how high he jumped, and at the look of shock on his face.

"Charlotte!" he gasped. He gave me a short look over and promptly asked, "What happened? Where are your parents?"

At first I thought about Jinx, and my father. Then I realized that he was talking about Damion and Wendy. Were they dead too, or were they somewhere else in this hospital, injured from the car accident? I leaned toward the dead part, as the morgue door was right here, and I wouldn't have to walk throughout the whole hospital in search for them. Marshall seemed frozen where he was so I pulled his arm so he could come with me. I used him as my support as I pulled him toward the bags. The coroner obviously knew that Marshall was coming and didn't object. Some bags had the clear part to see the face. I found my body in one of these bags. My hair was bloodstained, and some blood caked onto my face. My face was relatively intact, but if I was dead, it was because that truck hit me, and that would mean that the rest of my body was broken and beaten. I shivered and moved to see if I could find 'my' parents. I found them in the bags next to my body. I couldn't stand to look at either of them for more than a brief glance. They had been hit by three cars, including the truck, while I was only hit by one.

I turned back to Marshall. Tears threatened to fall as he struggled to keep a hold of himself. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Why the fuck did I have to die? I couldn't keep the tears from falling as I saw my partner standing there, struggling to hold on. Again, I pulled him away, and back towards my room. As much as I hated hospital rooms, I knew Marshall needed a place where he could have some privacy. I guided him to the foot of the bed and pushed him to sit. Then, I realized that I needed to figure out how the hell I was going to get on the bed myself as Marshall stared at a spot on the wall. The bed was too high for me to just sit my butt down on it, and I doubted I could pull myself on it with my hands and legs.

I tried anyway, and of course, ended up on the ground with a yelp of pain. Thankfully this yelp alerted Marshall, and with his help, I was back on the bed. It took me this long to realize that while I couldn't talk, I could make other sounds such as a scream, or growling. How else would nurses know to come running when I found out I was in another body, or when Marshall got me up on the bed. Still, I was hoping I could see that Seana bitch again just so I could strangle her and use her body parts as decorations on my neighbor's house. I hated, with a burning passion, being weak and defenseless. In Charlotte's body, that was what I was. Not to mention the delusions. I mean, how much crazier could you get?

Once I was settled back in the bed, Marshall moved closer to me, eyes downcast.

"You know Mary," he said, a statement, not a question, but I nodded anyway. "The person everyone would want on your side when you're in trouble. Stubborn too, but that's just part of the charm, you know? She'd never give up. She'd fight until either she or the person she's fighting is dead." He was robotic, emotionless, talking just to do something, and subconsciously stroking my arm. Pain flowed through me as I could only imagine what was going on in his head. "She gone. Mary's gone, and I never get her back."

My pain grew worse as my anger drifted from the person who killed me, to myself. During my life as Mary Shannon, Marshall was my best friend. Not because we were good friends, but because he was my only friend. I treated him like shit, and it seemed most of the time we spoke, I was using it as an attempt to unload, but Marshall never complained. He just took it. He'd still invite me over to his place for pizza and beer. He'd still help me with my life's problems.

I had to change this, to stop this from happening again.

I pulled myself up as best as I could and hugged him. For the first time today, I saw him smile, slowly but surely. "Thank you, Charlotte. You've been an angel."

His smile disappeared again and the tears began to fall.

I leaned into him thinking to myself, wishing he could hear, _'Marshall, you're beating yourself up because you think you lost me. I'm still here, and I'll show you who I am. I just don't know how.'_


	3. The IceCream Man

_A/N: Thank you BuJyo for your review! Some of you living in the US probably heard about the crazy winter storm that hit California, Arizona, and New Mexico. This storm has driven me crazy, as I was living through the middle of it, and stopped me from writing as my notebook, my wonderful notebook that I love more than anything I own, was left at work, and we closed for the storm because everyone with a key to the store was stuck. Anyway, why I'm saying this is because the chapter of Out of Control I am working on is in that book, and BuJyo gave me an absolutely brilliant idea to help me continue over my four day weekend (It's not going to be even close to how neat and sweet you did it), but I'd had the majority of the chapter already finished, and couldn't figure out where to go without it right in front of me. If I had been smart and kept it with me you would have had another chapter this afternoon. I can promise another chapter soon. This chapter has some language so be warned. I have my fingers crossed that you all like this one. I throughly enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it._

I've always loved nighttime, but I've always hated all the people during nighttime. Why is this? Because generally, they keep you up at night with random things. Screams from a nightmare, playing music or their TV with the volume up loud, drunks running down the street. The list could go on and on. The reason I bring this up is because, two nights after my death, I was woken up at 2:30 in the morning to insistent banging on the door from a stoner. Before I go on, I need to say what has happened since I found Marshall in the hospital. According to doctors, I am perfectly fine, but the reason I couldn't talk is some psychological BS, full of loads of blah blah blah. Okay, if you really want to know they think the trauma of the accident and losing my parents caused me to stop talking. As soon as the trauma wears off, I'll be able to talk again. Like I'll believe that crap. The Seana bitch took my voice forever and won't give it back. On a better note, Marshall adopted me, as someone under 16 can not live without a parent or guardian with that someone. So much fun. I get to go through the joys of childhood again, and better yet... puberty.

When the pounding started, I reached under the pillow for my gun, until I realized I didn't have one anymore, because no one would seriously give a six year old one unless they were extremely stupid. I heard Marshall's soft footsteps as he moved toward the door cautiously. I followed suit, as even though I couldn't provide even the simplest of defenses, I was curious to know who was at the door, and I was no safer in the bedroom. I saw him check behind the curtains and the peephole, and opened the door as fast as humanly possible.

"Randall! It's 2:30 in the morning!!"

"Dude, I burnt my house down!" Randall sounded almost gleeful, and drunk.

Now a little information on Randall. He's Marshall's cousin, but no one was willing to admit that Randall and Randall's father were part of the family. Marshall was friendly with him because he thought he was a hoot. He's not a bad person, and he was kind of fun. He lived a charmed life of sorts. Despite being a stoner and working as an ice cream man, he was never out of money, it seemed. Marshall suspected it came from Randall's father who, well, did a lot of work down by the docks. There's something not many know about Marshall. He's actually in the program because of Randall's father. Of course, there was no evidence, and Marshall's statement wasn't enough, so he walked, and wanted to kill Marshall for almost blowing his whole operation.

Marshall led Randall into his house, and three smaller people came in behind him. I peeked my head out behind my hiding place, and Marshall nodded at me. I came out and sat down on one of the couches, eying the people who had followed Randall. Marshall started introductions.

The youngest of the two boys was a three year old named Caleb, who seriously looked like he was mentally retarded. His eyes were half closed, and his mouth was open with a bit of drool on the corner.

The next boy and I linked eyes and something completely odd happened. I saw a boy in a hospital bed, hooked up to several machines. His legs were wrapped in casts. The boy flat lined and my vision of Marshall's living room returned. _Shake it off, don't go crazier than you already are_, I told myself. I barely managed to hear Marshall. This boy was ten and his name was Ben.

I didn't move my sight to the girl until after she'd been introduced. To be honest, I thought the same thing would happen with the girl. Her name was Gabbie, and she was seventeen. Slowly I turned toward her. Unlike what I had hoped, I saw a mouth of a woman, nothing above the mouth, no eyes or nose. I could also see the throat and shoulders of the woman. She was dressed in a green shirt or dress, and wearing a pearl necklace. Her mouth was locked in a scream, and I saw a black gloved hand holding a switchblade and it stabbed the screaming woman in the neck repeatedly.

As the 'vision' faded, I was shaking. The flashbacks of Chuck dying and my shooting that man had become few and rare. Those memories were up at the surface, and suddenly I was having a hard time breathing.

I froze when I noticed a face inches from mine. Randall's. "Remember those Chucky movies? I think Charlotte looks like him!"

I scrunched up my nose in disgust and I realized I was no longer panicking. "Your breath smells like you ate a shit sandwich," I growled. Chucky? Seriously?

Randall backed away and turned back toward Marshall. "Dude, you're depressed. Why the hell are you depressed?"

Marshall sighed, "Remember the woman I told you about one time, Mary Shannon?"

"Hot babe you crushed on for three years, with a mouth that could make a navel veteran proud?"

I growled at the last remark.

"Mary's dead," Marshall said. "I need to..." He was interrupted by Randall lighting up what I suspected was pot. "You do know I'm a cop, right?"

"Dude," he smoked half of the joint in one breath. "You know we've tried so many times to get me off pot and booze but you've always given me some before I was completely off. Every time we tried it's been fuzzy so I can't remember why I ended up smoking and drinking again."

Marshall sighed. "You're right."

"So dude, I need a change!"

"Seriously a change?" Marshall scoffed. "So you come here so you can get your change? I don't like you having pot, and I still want it as far from me as possible. You still have your job and last time I checked you liked it. Get a change somewhere else!"

Randall laughed. "Yeah, about the job, dude, I got something to show you. Follow me." He lead the way back out side, and all five of us followed. When we reached the driveway, Marshall and I stood in shock. There was an ice-cream truck in the driveway.

"What happened?"

Randall grinned sheepishly. "I got fired."

"You got fired?!"

"I blame it on bad vibes from Mrs. McKenzie. We got into a little fight, and she fired me."

"Why did she fire you?" Marshall asked really wanting to know.

"Well, I had been having a bad day, and beer always makes me feel better, so I brought a couple of six packs with me when I started my route. Before you knew it, the beers were drank, and as I say, I can't be held responsible for what I do in my truck when I pass out behind the wheel. Well, when I regained consciousness, I had driven through someone's backyard and into their swimming pool. When I told Mrs. McKenzie I had been drunk, she fired me."

"So you stole your truck?"

"Oh no, my truck was ruined. I stole a different truck, because she called me a "'Stone brained son of a bitch.'" Marshall shook his head in amusement.

"Will she turn you into the police?"

"Not if she wants her husband to know that she and a few of the boys have been playing hide the ice-cream cone." Everyone six and over laughed at this.

"So can we stay with you?" Randall asked, ice-cream truck completely forgotten.

Marshall sighed, and after a moment of rubbing circles on his temple said, "Only because you're family, and only for one night. Then we'll get you a hotel. In the morning I want all your pot out of my house."

As we went inside, I pulled Marshall's arm. I was confused and I tried to figure out why Marshall wouldn't get rid of his cousin's pot. I pointed at Randall, and acted like I was smoking, then pointed at him, and threw it in the trash, and gave him a questioning glance? He seemed to understand.

"It's impossible to get rid of his pot. He seemingly has it stashed everywhere. I've seen him find a bottle of vodka in the middle of the woods in the middle of nowhere. I can't turn him in because everyone he encounters while he was detoxing would kill themselves of the torture."

I made a mental reminder to figure out how to ask him why people would kill themselves at Randall detoxing, as I had glanced at the clock and saw it was four in the morning. It was time to go back to bed. But with the dream I was about to have, I was going to wish I hadn't.

_A/N: Please, don't judge Randall or my other characters. Randall is my favorite of all the original characters I came up with. I personally hate drugs with a burning passion, but I think it might be fun dealing with someone who could live without drugs, but no one else around him could live with him off drugs. Eventually I will show why Marshall won't keep Randall from pot and booze for long, and I promise, it'll be hilarious. Next chapter is the funeral! _


	4. Nightmares and Funerals

_A/N: Boo, no emails... Anyway, thank you Bujyo for your review. I honestly appreiciate the reviews you've sent me over both my main stories; they've been great. This one's for you. I promise you'll get your answer soon. Warning, this chapter is darker than the others._

People have been asking why they have dreams for years. Are they fantasy or another reality? If we die in a dream, do we die for real? How do we know they are dreams? What if they are reality, and what we perceive as reality is us asleep? For me, dreams have always been comforting, a sort of medication for the trouble I had gone through earlier in the day. In my dreams as a kid, my dad would have taken me with him. As a teenager, I went running off into the sunset with a prince charming. Now, as an adult, I would kick my mom and my sister out. The things that stop me from kicking them out now don't exist in the dream world. There would be no guilt, no pity. That's the nice thing about dreams; it can happen even if it can't happen. I only wished I could spend all of my life asleep. I don't want to any longer because I have someone who gives me a reason to stay awake, but thats another matter for another day.

Tonight's dream was different than any other dream I've had before. It was like a vision, but more than what I saw earlier today. One thing I've learned, when you die, and come back, you rarely come back alone. Something comes back with you, visions of things you don't understand, connections with people who wish to harm you. Sometimes other things come back. My dream was like an out-of-body experience, like I was looking at a movie rather than having a dream.

The first thing I saw was a woman. Not just any woman, she was wearing a silk floral print dress, full makeup, a pearl necklace and earrings. She was pregnant, very pregnant. She was shopping in an outdoor market, and the smell of ocean and breeze told me it was on one of the shoreline towns of New Jersey. When I saw her, I knew everything about her.

Her name was Evelyn Ward. She was married to a man who spent every moment he could making her life miserable and inflicting as much abuse as he could on her. His abuse didn't leave a bruise on her fair skin. His abuse was worse; it was emotional and mental. He called Evelyn a whore, a slut, worthless unless she opened her legs. He told her that she kept the house filthy, and he refused to let her get a job. The biggest thing of all, he made her always wear a dress, jewelry and full makeup, so even her body was a sign she belonged to him.

When I first saw her, I felt mad. She let herself be abused, every nasty comment, every little jab at her self esteem, she just took it? She had once been a strong, confident woman, so why did she allow herself to be abused? She had a baby coming for Christ sake!

_How would you know what shes going through, Mary. The only person who knows is her._

_I know if I were abused I wouldn't sit and take it._

_You might not have taken Mark's abuse, but you did get abused and took it. Your abuse was neglect, by a gambler who left you and a drunk who only cared for a drink. You desperately wished for their attention. You didn't fight back._

Now I was depressed. My conscious was a bitch. I watched Evelyn as she navigated through the maze of people, tents, and tables. I watch until she came to a wooden table, under a large white and blue stripped tent. An old crone, probably alive when God was born, sat behind the table. On it were a series of porcelain figurines.

Evelyn looked at the statues, until she came to a dancer statue. It was standing on one leg, the other one bent behind her with her hands clasped above her head. It looked like it could come to life at any moment. Gingerly, she lifted the figure up, and turned it over in her hands. She set it back down, and turned to the sales woman.

"How much?"

"That depends," the crone said, smiling a wicked smile. God, she had no teeth, and her mouth was a gaping black hole. "How much you got?"

Evelyn reached into her purse. Her husband gave her an allowance to spend on herself, all in cash. She pulled all of it out, both bills, and placed them on the table. The woman looked at them, and laughed. "Sorry sugar, not enough."

Evelyn gasped. "But, please! I need it. I had a little figurine like this, when I was a little girl." It made her happy, it reminded her of a happier time. Slowly, Evelyn pulled out a check book, the one her husband gave her for errands only. "Do you except checks?"

* * *

"You're my favorite," Evelyn whispered as she set the dancer statue on the wooden entertainment center, which set beside the TV in her house. Each of the shelves on the entertainment center were lined with little figurines. When her husband was in a good mood, he would buy her one. When he decided she had been disobedient, he smashed one of them under his foot.

Speaking of the devil, it was at this moment he decided to come home. When I saw this man, unlike Evelyn, I knew nothing about him. He was average height, average weight, with sandy hair and girlishly long eyelashes. I didn't know his name, or his story. I knew he was married to Evelyn, by the band on his finger. I assumed that he was a lawyer, because he wore a suit, carried a briefcase, and was a shit-stain on the map of life.

"Hello Clark," Evelyn said, smiling. "I thought you would never get here." Clark set down the briefcase.

"I noticed dinner hasn't been prepared," he said. "I thought we had a discussion about this. I want you to prove you do have some value."

"Y-yes sir, I'm sorry." He nodded. "I-I'll get to work."

"See that you do." Evelyn nodded hopelessly and walked out of the living room. I followed her, into their kitchen from which I could still see the living room. Evelyn didn't go to the fridge, rather, she went over to a knife block, and toyed with the largest knife. I could see Clark, and he had picked up the dancer figurine. "What is this?

"Oh that?" Evelyn asked, turning to see Clark. "Oh, I bought th-that tod-d-day."

"Your allowance covered this?" Clark asked, his voice filled with suspicion.

"W-well, actually no." Evelyn gulped. "I used the checkbook. Before you get mad, it was only a little more than my allowance, and it reminded me of my childhood. It made me so happy, assumed you would-" Clark pushed the figurine onto the floor, and crushed it under his foot.

"You disobeyed me woman!" Clark growled. "This is for your own good." He knocked off another figure, and smashed it. Evelyn collapsed to her knees. She didn't cry, she didn't really move.

"I-I can't do this any more."

"What did you say woman?" Clark asked. He dropped a child figure that looked suspiciously like Charlotte, and prepared to smash it.

"NO!!" Evelyn screamed, as she leaped onto her husband. In her left hand, was the knife from the kitchen, which she plunged repeatedly into his stomach.

I screamed.

"Charlotte, calm down."

I stopped screaming and panted slowly. It took me a moment to remember where I was. I was next to Marshall, wide awake. He was sitting up right, and holding my quivering body to his chest, slowly stroking my arm. Sunlight was streaming into the room.

"You're safe, Charlotte. I'll protect you, I never let anything happen to you." I looked at him, my brown eyes tearing, and I completely believed him.

I looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was time to get ready for my funeral.

* * *

A funeral is a glorified ritual that humans have created ever since the dawn of time. So much ceremony goes into the simple act of putting someone in a pine box, and dropping them down a hole. Obviously, I don't like funerals. I never understood why everyone has to come out to be reminded that this person is dead. Funerals are just a chance to be miserable a second time. If it isn't enough, you have to pay for that misery.

It's ironic that as much as I hate funerals, I was attending my own funeral, from some other area other than the casket. I sat next to Marshall wearing a royal blue dress, the darkest dress Charlotte owned. My funeral would give me nightmares I would have for several years to come.

Albuquerque was exceptionally beautiful today with the thunderstorm threatening to break hell loose. The sunset poked through the line of clouds sending a reddish-orange tint in the air. All the colors, like the grass or the cars, seemed to be brighter and clearer. All of this beauty did nothing to cheer the mood up however. All everyone could see was rows of tombstones. It's a scary thought that when you die, you end up under a tombstone in a sea of tombstones. The scariest part, however, was my body in a casket.

My face was pale, like the color of fresh white paint. My hair was combed rigidly straight. My eyes were closed, and my face showed no emotion. Everyone but the man next to me thought that this was my calm look, but this man and myself knew I was only calm when I was tearing something apart or threatening to shoot someone. The way my body looked suggested that I was sick or nervous.

I was in a long sleeved, frilly, white dress, wearing terrible lipstick, and long ear rings. I wanted to shake my head in disgust. If these people wanted to see the real me, I would wear a T-shirt with the words 'FUCK OFF' written large and colorful. I'd have on my favorite old jeans that Jinx hated and I caught her trying to throw them away, and I kept them for that very reason. I only wear jewelry when I absolutely had to and if it was my choice, I would wear no jewelry but necklace Marshall gave me the second year we were partners together.

"She looks so lifelike," I heard a few people say softly.

"No I don't!" I responded, even though no one could hear me.

I was surprised at how many people showed up to this funeral. I looked around and saw my mother wearing the black equivalent of the dress my body was wearing. She was wearing sunglasses, not to hide eyes red from tears, but rather to hide eyes red from several nights of binge drinking. I had seen her a few times since she found out I was dead, and she had been drinking even more, if it was possible. I kept expecting her to kneel over at any moment.

Marshall was completely still, no emotion on his face. I knew the truth. The morning was spent as a robot besides for a few minutes after my nightmare, and the last six days were alternating between blaming himself or crying. When he wasn't crying or wallowing in self blame, he was signing my adoption papers. As my body wasn't 18 years old, I had to have a parent or guardian take care of me, and Charlotte still needed U.S. Marshal protection. He had me with him constantly. He talked to me (Charlotte) about me (Mary). I was going to be unhappy for the rest of my life.

Which I deserved to be.

The majority of Marshall's and my witnesses were there, even though I pissed more than half off every time I came to check on them. It shocked me that they wanted to see me one last time just to say goodbye. I feel like shit for treating them terribly.

Finally, it was time for everyone to go to the casket and say their last goodbyes. As Marshall and I stood up, Jinx and Raph did as well. This would not be good.

Marshall walked toward my casket, and whispered softly to my corpse. "I still can't believe you're dead. I missed you so much, and I never got to even say how much I loved you."

I was anger for two people grew as Marshall whispered to my body. The asshole driving the truck and Seana. I was trapped in a six year old body, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Get away from my precious daughter!" Jinx screeched.

Raph stood angrily next to Jinx and growled, "That's my fiance, not your's. I demand you leave now."

Marshall scowled, then smirked. In one fluid motion, he gave my mom and Raph a one finger salute, bent over, and kissed my dead lips.

As they stood there, mouths hanging open, the two of us took off, away from the coffin.

"Wow I can't believe I just did that," Marshall mumbled. "It went better than I expected, though."

"How did you expect it to go."

"Marshall!" A loud and chirpy voice exclaimed. Both Marshall and I froze, and shuttered. Jaye. It had to be Jaye.

"Hello Jaye," Marshall said, as he turned around, trying desperately to hide his grimace.

Jaye ran up to us, smiling happily, wearing a dress that was brighter than the sun.

"Marshall, I never expected to see you here!"

"You never expected to see me at the funeral of my partner?"

"It's been a good funeral."

"A good funeral?" I cried, "What does that even mean?"

Jaye was one of those girls who would have many women punch her out. She was someone I would bet would deal with her emotional problems through binge drinking and promiscuity. She had a face full of freckles, a smile that could light up a room, even if you didn't want it to, and a small button nose. Her short, red hair, curled on the ends, and shined in the sunlight so bright, I could see my reflection in it from the ground. Jaye's personality was somewhere between quirky and needs medication. As soon as I spoke, Jaye looked down.

"Ooh, I didn't know you had a kid," Jaye cooed, picking me up. As I struggled against her bony fingers, so cold I could feel them through my dress, she pulled me really close to her face. "Oh, you are just so adorable."

"Oh, you are so fucking stupid," I said in the same type of voice as her. One of the few good things about being mute. Jaye smiled, and placed me back on the ground. I brushed off my body rapidly, to get her skin cells off of me.

"So what brings you to Albuquerque, Jaye?" Marshall asked. Jaye was one of the Phoenix WitSec inspectors and we had crossed paths a few times.

"I'm going to be your new partner! I was thinking we could go check out witnesses together-"

"Thank you for offering, Jaye. I don't mind helping you figure out your way around the city to see your witnesses, but I can't do that with you right now. I need to do that alone. I can't be with other people."

Jaye's smile dropped. "Are you sure?" When he nodded, she sighed. "Well, if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I'm here for you."

"Dear god!" I cried. "You're hitting on him, at my funeral?

"Aw, you dear child."

"Charlotte. Her name is Charlotte."

"I think Charlotte likes me."

"NO! I don't!" I exclaimed.

"I'm sorry Jaye, I can't. I've got to go." Jaye nodded and we finally reached my favorite part of the funeral. The part where we leave. I remembered Randall, Gabbie, Ben, and Caleb who was going to dinner with us tonight, and chuckled. This will be fun.

_A/N: Wow, my chapters are getting longer and longer. This one is almost 3000 words! Biggest chapter I've ever written. I hope you enjoyed. Its gonna get better. Next we get Randall a hotel and things get well... odd when Gabbie convinces Marshall that he should get Charlotte a dog._


	5. The World of Idiots

_A/N: Thank you BuJyo and Kay8abc. Sorry for the delay, will be explained later._

The car ride was so soothing to my young body. Several times I came close to falling asleep but Marshall's voice kept waking me. He was talking to me about Jaye. It was kind of sweet; he wanted me to know just about everyone he knew. It didn't matter to me that I already knew the majority of these people. Besides, it gave me a chance to make a little fun of them.

"How could anyone like her?" I whispered to myself. "Her full name is Jaye Kay. No middle name."

"Yes, she is good looking. I can admit that," Marshall smiled. "She has a body you want to eat off of."

"And a face you want to punch."

"But she has no personality. Jaye has all the depth of a puddle of water. I mean, I couldn't believe she is a U.S. Marshal. It's illogical if you think about it. Her interests I can count on one hand. Shopping," Marshall said, holding up one finger, "guys, and thinking she's perfect."

My views on Jaye were the same as my views on a zit. Grab it, squeeze it, and don't let go until it oozes pus. She was one of those annoying people who you couldn't get rid of, no matter how hard you tried. Jaye had tried to be friends with me, in spite of the fact I would rather be the guest of honor at a dinner run by cannibals than be friends with her.

It was silent the rest of the way. As we came onto Marshall's street, I laughed as I recognized the ice-cream truck in the driveway. We hadn't managed to get Randall out of the house in the morning, mostly because he was passed out, and the smell... Well, we had to run out the back door when we left for the funeral, as the front smelled absolutely revolting.

We got out of the car and opened the front door slowly. There was no smell, so we came inside. The TV was on. We walked into the living room, where Randall and Gabbie were seated on the couch, watching the evening news show. Randall was staring at the anchor woman, obviously turned on by how much he was drooling. He was holding an open beer in his left hand. Gabbie sat beside him, and looked up when we came in.

"Hello Randall," Marshall said as he put his things on the coffee table.

"Yo yo man," Randall said, as he took a slug of beer. A small insect landed on his face, and he didn't move. Man, this dude was drunk.

"Is he generally like this?" I asked the room, not expecting an answer.

"He only usually gets this bad when he's recently drunken wood varnish," Gabbie said, watching me.

"I don't know how the hell he can drink the stuff," Marshall sighed. "I'm going to find the boys and see what they want to do for dinner."

He left but I hardly noticed as I was still staring at Gabbie. Had she heard me?

"Can you hear me?" I asked her, honestly hoping she could.

Gabbie got up and came next to me, "Sort of. I can read lips. I was deaf as a kid, and I didn't want to just learn sign language as most people don't know the language. I had a few experimental treatments in another country and they fixed my hearing. Ben knows how to read lips as well as I taught him."

I was almost giddy with excitement. Finally, someone could hear me. Finally, I wasn't alone.

* * *

It was embarrassing. We went to a park to eat our food because we didn't want to get in trouble with Randall, and we had all settled on Wendy's. I was embarrassed because Marshall got me a kiddie meal. I looked at the toy in the plastic bag and sighed. Caleb and Ben were playing together with their toys and I looked at mine again. It was a mini Barbie doll. This doll was one of Barbie's 'friends', and I recognized the brown hair. Seana. I opened the toy and tossed it to the boys.

It hit Caleb in the head, but he didn't do anything other than what he had been doing. Ten seconds later, he rubbed his head, and looked down to see the doll. Another few seconds and he squealed in delight and tossed it into the field of play. I rolled my eyes. This kid really was retarded.

Randall's voice floated over to the side of the table I was sitting on.

"Dude, I'm going to tell you something my father told me."

I snorted, "Nothing dissolves a body better than lye?"

"The best way to get over someone is to get under someone." Randall looked ecstatic at what he was saying. "Let's get you a hooker."

"NO!" Marshall, me, and Gabbie all said. Marshall continued. "I don't want a hooker."

"Come on, there are plenty here in Albuquerque, unless... Are you worried I won't pay for it, 'cause I promise I will."

"I don't want a hooker," Marshall said stubbornly.

Randall sighed and gave up. The six of us began to clean up our dinner. I looked at Marshall, who looked like he was exhausted. I looked at Randall, who wore a shirt that said 'You can't make a woman out of a whore.' I then looked at Gabbie. The woman I had seen in my dreams, was it the woman I saw when I first met Gabbie? If so, what did it mean?

We split up to get into our separate cars, Gabbie was driving the other one, of course. As Marshall and I drove away, to lead the way to a hotel, Gabbie sighed sadly and whispered to herself, "Mary, what did James and Jinx do to you. Why are you so cynical now?" I never said anything to her about my real name, and especially who my parents were.

* * *

Marshall took me to work the next morning and Eleanor would babysit me while he went to check on a few of his witnesses. This allowed me to check out the office since my death. My desk had been cleared and I nearly puked at the sight of what was now covering it. Was that... sparkles? I wrenched my gaze away from the sight. I turned toward Marshall's desk. I noticed a few of my belongings on his desk among his own. I also noticed the Fleegler 2000 sitting there, looking amazingly beautiful. Eleanor was in Stan's office talking about 'confidential' things, and Marshall of course wasn't here. I looked down at my cast still on my arm, and I wondered briefly if I could staple it.

I took a step towards it, and looked around again. I swear the damn thing called to me, and I'm positive it wasn't Charlotte's hallucinations. This time it was my own. I took the next to steps quickly and tried to get my arm into it. I could only manage enough so that it wouldn't catch my arm, only the cast, and I guess I couldn't complain. I remember vaguely the tough time Marshall and Eleanor had getting the staples I did out. I didn't want a staple permanently in my arm. Slowly I pushed down on the stapler with my other hand. I waited patiently for the click. It made contact with my cast.

Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing. I ripped out my cast and pushed it frantically down. Absolutely nothing was coming out. I wanted to cry in frustration, but I couldn't just in case it did make a sound. I didn't want Eleanor or Stan knowing that I was trying to staple my cast until I was done. Of course Marshall didn't have staples in it. He took them out after my... obsession, and carried the staples with him so I couldn't staple anything else. Instead of crying, I hit my broken arm on Marshall's desk, and I did cry out a bit when I did that. I had taken no pain meds this morning so things were a little tender, and I couldn't hit my cast much harder than the normal bumps.

I heard the sound of the elevator opening and I saw Jaye come walking out with a huge grin. Her grin grew impossibly bigger as she saw me.

"Shit," I moaned. "Is it too late to say I don't see her?"

"Oh, I remember you!" She cooed, walking quickly toward me. Too late, I sighed. As soon as she was close enough, she bent down so she could hug me. I squirmed to try to get out of her grasp. "Do you remember your Auntie Jaye, Charlotte?"

"I think so," I said, gagging. "Aren't you the girl whose nickname was one size fits all?" Being mute can be a huge pain in the ass, but other times it's fantastic.

"You are so cute!" she giggled.

"Hi Jaye," Marshall said. I looked up to see him, a fake smile plastered over his face. "You're here sooner than I expected."

"I couldn't remember the way to Sophia Jenkin's house so I decided to come back so I could find it again."

I rolled my eyes. Jaye is a moron, and I'm amazed she found her way out of her car, in spite of the fact the exit would be inches from her.

Stan's door opened and he walked out with a manila folder in his hands. "A new witness is arriving this evening." He handed the folder to Jaye. "He's yours, but Marshall, if you don't mind, I'd like you to help her."

"Of course," Marshall nodded.

I sighed. I wouldn't get to be here in the evening. Witnesses aren't supposed to know that other witnesses are witnesses. I wouldn't get to see this guy, know whether or not he would bring troubles or be a good boy. I couldn't even know if this man was a criminal or if he witnessed a crime. I can't protect Marshall if the situation requires him to have backup.

What if I lost Marshall? He didn't have me anymore to have his back. I'm too small to do something so simple as driving a car. Damn not being able to see over the steering wheel. Even worse, Seana took away my ability to read and write, probably because Charlotte hadn't learned yet. Speaking of learning, I'd have to go back to school soon, as it was starting in a month. I'd have to go 8 hours without knowing how Marshall was doing every 5 out of 7 days of the week. The worst part of this statement was that I realized I was becoming clingy. I've relied more and more on Marshall in the past few weeks and soon I'd be forced away from him. Jesus, life sucked.

Jaye glanced at her (my) computer and sighed. "I'd best get back to work."

"We'll see you around," Marshall said. "It's time for Charlotte to get some lunch, and apparently my cousin's daughter has a surprise for Charlotte."

"I didn't know your family was in town, Marshall," Stan said.

Marshall smirked, "He burnt his house down. I'm getting him set up with a new place."

Stan wished him luck before withdrawing into his office.

I had been listening when Marshall said surprise. I've never been a fan of surprises, and something told me I wasn't going to be happy with this surprise.

_A/N: Sorry, I lied. No doggie in this chapter, but definitely next. I just got back into town after spending some time with my mom in Texas. I had this chapter up til now finished before I left and I had just barely started on what I'm making the next chapter. Since it's been so long since I've last updated, I decided the dog could wait another chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter._


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